


Caveat Dator

by dettiot



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-25
Updated: 2016-05-25
Packaged: 2018-06-10 15:52:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,141
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6963235
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dettiot/pseuds/dettiot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Oliver regrets giving Felicity a million dollars.  Because those dresses.  Set early season 2.  Previously posted on Tumblr.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Caveat Dator

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by a conversation with adiwriting. Title means “Beware, donor”--in other words, Oliver should have considered the consequences of giving Felicity a million dollars. Edited from its appearance on Tumblr, but not in a way that changes anything big if you already read it there. :-) In case it isn’t clear, the sections in italics are Digg’s thoughts. Thanks for reading!

At the time, lost in a haze of grief and guilt and shame, giving Felicity and Digg a million dollars each was about showing them how important they were to him, in the only way he could.  Although honestly, if he was to show them the true depth of his feelings for them, it would have taken much more than a million apiece.  But he knew that neither of them wanted the money and would feel like he was going too far with what he gave them.  After a while, though, once they realized that he was really gone and he wasn’t coming back, he figured they would stop being angry with him and would accept the gift.  Enjoy the money to make their lives easier.  

Oliver never thought he would see how they had spent the money.  On a new lair, brighter and more efficient and better than the haphazard setup he had created.  On a new bow, custom-made, with everything he could have asked for in a bow.

And God help him, he did not think he would see the kind of clothes Felicity would buy if money was no object.  If only he had known.

When they had first met, he had noticed that Felicity’s sense of style was quirky.  The funky sweaters and cardigans, the bright mismatching nail polish, the flat shoes with panda bear faces on them . . . well, he liked it, but he also recognized her style choices for what they were: a way for her to create an impression.   An impression that let people underestimate her.  To see her as young and inexperienced.  Perhaps he fell into that trap, too.  After all, he had been taken aback when on the Dodger case, Felicity had shown up in that gold sequin dress, displaying legs that he did  _ not  _ notice, a face perfectly made up and sans glasses, her hair falling in chunky curls that his fingers itched to touch.

But after that, she went right back to the sweaters and bright pants and panda bear flats, and he had made himself forget that gold dress.  

He shouldn’t have forgotten it.  He should have kept Felicity in that gold dress front and center in his mind, to prepare himself.  Although was there any way to prepare for one Felicity Megan Smoak, stomping toward him with fire in her eyes and very high heels on her feet, her hair almost as sleek as the form-fitting gray dress she was wearing?  

Short answer: there wasn’t.

Jesus Christ, what the hell had happened to her?  When had she decided to buy that dress?  And those heels?  Was it sometime yesterday, after he told her that he was promoting her to his executive assistant?  She couldn’t have just had this dress in her closet and had never worn it before now.  No, she was wearing it today on purpose, in order to drive him out of his fucking mind.  Because her body was a work of art and he should  _ not  _ be noticing every little detail of it.  Especially when she was yelling at him about not going to MIT for the secretarial arts.

Just . . . how did she look like that, sitting at a computer all day?  He had already boggled at her legs before, taking in how toned they were, how long they appeared despite Felicity not even being five and a half feet.  But now that he had an even better idea of her figure . . . what the fuck?

The curves she had made his body react in a way it never had before.  The gentle slope of her breasts, the way her waist nipped in before flaring out into the soft, sinuous line of her hips . . . and her ass.  Holy fuck, had she  _ always  _ had an ass like that?

In the past, Oliver had always considered himself a breast man.  But now?  He was reconsidering that.  He apparently was an everything man.  As long as the everything belonged to Felicity.

And also, he was apparently a pervert of the highest, most disgusting order.  Because Felicity was his friend and you didn’t think about your friend’s body like he was thinking about Felicity’s.  You didn’t leer at them like they were a steak and you were coming off years of vegetarianism.  Because this was  _ Felicity _ .  She wasn’t some woman he was trying to pick up in a bar.  Not only was she his partner in how he spent his nights, but she was now going to be working with him every day, helping him somehow manage to not fuck up the company his family had built.

“If I’m going to be Oliver Queen, CEO, then I can’t very well travel down eighteen floors every time you and I need to discuss how we spend our nights!” Oliver snapped, needing some way to relieve the pressure inside his body, in a way that wouldn’t ruin one of the best things he had.  

“And I love spending the night with you--3, 2, 1.”  Felicity had realized what she said so instantaneously, she hadn’t even given him time to react.  But still, his eyes managed to coast down her body at the thought of her loving to spend the night with her and him loving it, too . . . 

_ What the almighty  _ **_fuck_ ** _ , Queen? _ he silently scolded himself.   _ Get your shit together! _

Finally reaching a detente thanks to the need to stop the medicine heists affecting Glades Memorial Hospital, Oliver sank down at his desk.  But Felicity was still pissed at him--it was obvious from how she was sniping at him.  And there was something he was missing, about Digg and Carly, and . . . 

Sighing, Oliver wondered if maybe he shouldn’t have listened to Felicity and Digg.  If he should have stayed on Lian Yu.  Things were just so much simpler there.  Basic.  Keep the fire going, hunt for food, stay alive.  Here in Starling City, everything was so different and complicated and confusing.  

But he couldn’t go back.  Not now, with knowing how bad it had gotten in Starling City in the absence of the Hood--a name that didn’t really fit him anymore.  And there was Thea, who was all alone, and his mother in Iron Heights, and trying to rebuilt the Glades . . . 

And there was Digg and Felicity.  They had both changed while he was gone, discovering new things about themselves.  And they had formed a stronger bond, their friendship growing deeper.  Perhaps out of missing him?  Which was utterly selfish of him to think so, but . . . but they had both come after him.  They had made him pull his head out of his ass.

Made him see he couldn’t leave this world so easily.  Made him see what he had started, what he needed to continued.  

Made him see Felicity with new eyes.  Eyes, he realized, that were glued to her ass as she moved around her desk, getting her computers set up to her liking.  

XXX

She had only been Oliver’s EA for two weeks, and already she was missing the days when she could just throw on a pencil skirt and a cardigan, without wondering if she had already worn this outfit during the week.  Even worse were the days when she wanted to wear a certain dress, only to discover it was at the dry cleaner’s, or needed to go to the cleaner’s, and then it became the big debate of whether she could wear it one more time before getting it cleaned . . . 

How had this happened?  One day, she had a million extra dollars in her bank account--more money than she could ever spend, even with paying off her student loans and paying for half of the lair renovations.  There was still a ridiculous amount of money left over, but it had felt wrong to buy anything else.  She might have considered using it as a down payment on a condo, but then . . . they had brought Oliver back and he had decided they needed secret identities.  And hers was as Oliver Queen’s secretary.   

Felicity wasn’t sure if she had ever been so mad.  Because how  _ dare  _ Oliver slight all her hard work, all the things she had sacrificed for her education and her skills, in order to make her into his assistant?  Especially since he told her over lunch, when he was on his way to Iron Heights to visit his mother, and there was no time for her to tell him exactly where he could stick this “promotion.”     
It was in that moment that Felicity decided how she was going to spend the rest of Oliver’s money.  She still was of half a mind to quit, but either way, she would need new clothes.  Professional clothes, clothes that would make people take her seriously.  To see her as a force to be reckoned with.  

Because if even Oliver, who knew what she was capable of, misjudged her because she liked wearing sweaters with animals on them, what the hell was the whole world thinking when they looked at her?  

It was time for an image overhaul.  So Felicity had gone right from lunch to Starling’s shopping district and started buying.  It wasn’t hard to craft a new style--after all, this wasn’t the first time she had done a one-eighty on her look.  Admittedly, she wasn’t making as big a switch as she had after--

No.  No, she wouldn’t let herself think of him.  Instead, Felicity thought about stilettos and high heeled Mary Janes and t-strap sandals.  She considered dresses in bright, eye-catching colors, ones that had skirts to show off her legs or strategic cutouts over her chest or back.  She picked out jewelry that sparkled and drew attention to her cleavage--such as it was.  When she exhausted what was available in Starling City, she went home and began putting in online orders.

Before that, though, she got a blowout and decided she would wear her hair down more often.  And no more low, curly ponytails.  From now on, her hair would always be sleek, even if she was wearing a ponytail. 

Properly armored, she stood on the thirty-seventh floor of Queen Consolidated the next morning, waiting to tell Oliver she quit.  She was wearing a new, sexy-yet-serious dress, she had never worn heels this high before, and she was bubbling over with nervous energy.  Because the minute Oliver stepped off the elevator, followed by Digg, she blurted out, “I quit!”

“No, you don’t,” the handsomely suited bastard said, striding towards his office.  But . . . but had he paused to check her out first?  

Which just made her more mad.  She followed him, refusing to let Oliver brush this aside and act like it was nothing.  She  _ liked  _ her job in the IT department!  Yes, it wasn’t very challenging, but it was about building your resume--something Mr. Dropped Out of Four Schools wouldn’t understand.  You had to pay your dues and create a network for yourself, especially when you were a woman in technology.  Before Oliver had shoved her into this new position, there had been an opening in Applied Sciences she had her eye on.  It would have been the perfect next step.

And now, what was her resume going to look like?  Information Technician, Queen Consolidated, 2011-2013, followed by Executive Assistant to the CEO, Queen Consolidated, 2013-?  That was not something she wanted to spend the rest of her career explaining!

“I worked very hard to get where I am, and it wasn’t so I can fetch you coffee!” Felicity told him, refusing to let her verbal slip distract from the point she was trying to make.  The point that just wasn’t sinking in to Oliver’s thick, Cro-Magnon skull.  

God, he was acting strange.  His eyes kept dropping, only to jump back up to meet her eyes.  It almost made her think he was taking in her new dress and shoes, like he thought she looked different but couldn’t put his finger on what had changed.

Men.  Even hyper-observant ones like Oliver, they could never tell when a woman had gotten a new hairstyle or dress--but they knew something was different.  

Her suspicion was proven correct when he didn’t pick up on Digg’s obvious discomfort when Oliver mentioned Carly.  It was one thing for Oliver to not notice her--but when he didn’t realize how he was hurting Digg, Felicity felt her ire really come out.  

After a few days, though, she had let the anger go.  Because it wasn’t productive--and she didn’t like the person she was when she was angry.  That Felicity was just mean: all about hitting someone when they were already down.  Which is why she conceded her acquiescence to her new identity as executive assistant, by getting Oliver a cup of coffee.

She still wasn’t happy about this.  But . . . Oliver had a lot on his shoulders right now.  And a lot of it wasn’t even burdens he insisted on carrying unnecessarily.  No, his concern about his family, his worries about the safety of Starling City--that was what made Oliver into the man he was. 

Besides, this did make it a lot easier to manage their nighttime activities, and it would even keep the gossip down--because after each visit of Oliver’s to the IT Department, she got looks in the break room.  Looks that were beginning to become more frequent.  If she was going to be doing a job that didn’t challenge her, at least this one would let her be more helpful to Oliver.

And after all . . . Digg had been right that he had it a lot worse than she did.  

XXX

_ Man, Oliver, what are you doing?  Just dropping a bomb like that on Felicity?  Telling her she’s going to be your secretary now, instead of asking her?  The girl’s ambitious, and this is going to do a number on her resume.   _

_ Of course, you were too damn busy checking her out to think about her career.  You must have never noticed that Felicity was a woman--and a damn attractive one, too.  Well, maybe during the Dodger case when she was all dressed up, but then you really quickly put Felicity back into the ‘cute little nerd’ box you had her in.  Never mind she hadn’t fit in that box from the beginning.   _

_ Good thing you’ve got no idea what you’re feeling.  You’re such an idiot--if you had any clue how you feel about Felicity, I would be really worried.  Because I’m sorry, but man, you are in no way ready for a relationship--not one that matters.  And actually, Felicity could do with some growing up, too.  Watching her during lunch, when you were giving her the news . . . I could see the wheels turning in her head, the way she was going to get you back for this.  So it wasn’t very surprising that the next day, Felicity was decked out like something out of Executive Assistant Quarterly or something.  I’m surprised she didn’t stick her tongue out at you and say “So there!”   _

_ But your eyes about fell out of your head.  Looks like you’re not thinking of Felicity as a cute little nerd any more.   _

XXX

It had been two weeks of torture.  It seemed like every day, Felicity showed up in a dress that drove him to distraction in a new way.  One day it was with her legs.  The next with her back.  Although the worst was the dresses with the cutouts over her chest.  Because . . . because Jesus, maybe he  _ was  _ a boob man after all.

In some ways, it was getting easier.  When he started recognizing the dresses on their second or third appearance, at least he knew what to expect.  Not that seeing long legs or the toned skin of her back or the soft roundness of her upper breasts didn’t make his mouth go dry.  But at least he was kinda prepared.

But then there were other issues.  Like how men were suddenly noticing Felicity--a lot.  Even with Digg and himself at her side, there were too many guys who were running their eyes all over her, giving her the little head nod that Oliver himself had perfected back in the day.  

The first time it had happened, they had been returning to the building after lunch, a few days after she had become his EA.  They were walking through the lobby towards the security checkpoint, when Felicity said softly, “Frak!”  

Oliver turned to see her crouching down, her hand brushing over the floor.  He wasn’t sure what she was doing--all he knew was, he could practically see all of her legs.  The skirt of her dress had ridden up slightly, revealing more of her thighs, and with those high heels of hers, her legs had never looked better.  

It made Oliver want to run his fingers up her leg, starting from her ankle, moving over her knee, then going even higher.  He could almost feel the texture of her skin under his fingers, smooth and soft like satin, before he made himself look away.  Just in time to see the security guard who was ogling Felicity’s legs.  

With a frown, he turned to face Felicity, stepping between her and the guard.  “Felicity, what are you doing?”

“My earring slipped out,” Felicity said, looking up at him as she slid the wire of her dangly bit of jewelry back into place.  Once that was settled, she shifted, preparing to stand up.  Out of the corner of his eye, Oliver saw Digg step forward, ready to offer Felicity a hand.  

But before his bodyguard could say a word or come closer, Oliver reached out for Felicity’s hand.  Her eyes met his, so blue behind her glasses, and then she gave him a small smile.  She gripped his hand and Oliver helped her to her feet, steadying her when she had a momentary wobble.

“Thank you,” she said, shifting on her feet.  “I’m still getting used to heels all the time.”  

Nodding, he looked at her for a long moment.  “I couldn’t help noticing that you . . .”  His words failing him, he gestured at her feet, then at her dress.  

Felicity’s forehead creased.  “I used some of the money you gave me to get some new clothes . . .”

Oh.  Well, that at least answered the question of how she was paying for her new wardrobe.  He felt a warmth go over him, realizing that it was thanks to him, in part, that Felicity looked as stunning as she did.  

Wait.  Not stunning.  No.  This was Felicity.  His friend.  His partner.  He did not think she was stunning, he was not attracted to her--

“I guess I look kind of silly, huh?”

“What?” Oliver said, jolted by Felicity’s question.  By her question, and by the way her voice sounded so small and hesitant and unsure.

She twitched at her dress, like she was trying to tug the skirt down to cover more of her legs.  “I wanted a change.  To be treated like a grown-up.  But maybe I just look like a little girl playing dress-up.”  

It was like his brain had frozen.  Because . . . he wanted to tell Felicity that no, she didn’t look silly.  He wanted to say that she looked so far from silly . . . she was beautiful.  Because she was.  Young and healthy and smart and strong, with her whole life ahead of her.  Plenty of time for her to get everything she wanted, once she was no longer being held back by him and his crusade.

But he couldn’t get the words out.  Couldn’t admit that he liked her dress, that she looked so far from a little girl, that his body thought she was definitely all grown-up.  

If he started telling her those things, he wouldn’t be able to stop talking.  

As he looked at her face, as he saw the uncertainty grow, as he saw her start to pull away, Oliver opened his mouth to say something.  Anything to keep that sad, haunted look off her face.  But before he could get his stupid mouth working, Digg stepped in.

“You’ve always been smart and strong, Felicity.  Whether you’re wearing flats or heels, that hasn’t changed.”  

Felicity’s shoulders slumped in relief and she gave Digg a weak smile.  “Yeah?”  

“Yeah,” he replied, his voice warm, full of support and friendship.     


That was what Oliver should have said.  That was what a friend could tell another friend, when they were feeling insecure.  Why couldn’t he do that?  Why couldn’t he be that for Felicity?     


Why did he even want to be that for her?  She was just his friend.     


Just as quickly as the moment started, it ended.  Felicity lifted her chin and assumed the new professional air she had started to show when they were inside Queen Consolidated.  “Mr. Queen, we should get moving--you don’t want to be late for your two o’clock.”     


_ Mr. Queen _ .  It wasn’t the first time someone had called him that.  Hell, it wasn’t the first time Felicity had called him that.  But it was the first time the title had made his dick harden.     


“Yes, right,” he said, stepping aside and turning to walk beside Felicity towards the security checkpoint next to the executive elevators.  The guard there, the same one who had been looking at Felicity when they walked in, eyed her again as they approached.   


Oliver felt his jaw tense.  He moved his hand to rest against her back, just the tips of his fingers touching her dress.  The guard noticed Oliver’s hand moving, then lifted his eyes to the CEO’s face.     


What he saw there must have scared the shit out of the kid--who was no more than twenty-two or twenty-three, Oliver guessed--because his face went pale and his voice got high.  “H-have a good day.”     


“Thank you, Tim,” Felicity said cheerfully, not at all noticing the byplay between Oliver and the guard.     


“Yes, thank you, Tim,” Oliver added, steering Felicity past the desk and towards the elevator.  From behind him, he thought he heard a soft snort.  Glancing over his shoulder, Oliver saw Digg, his head lowered and his hand covering his mouth.   


“Everything okay, Digg?” he asked.   


Digg nodded, his hand falling away to reveal a smirk on his face.  “Just fine,  _ Mr. Queen _ .”     


Was there some extra emphasis there?  Oliver frowned, then turned so he could follow Felicity onto the elevator.   


XXX   


Wiggling a little, Felicity adjusted her skirt so it provided more protection between her legs and the chilly pleather of her spinny chair.  Why was the executive floor so cold?  It must be for the men, wearing three-piece suits all the time.  Meanwhile, in her cute little dress with the maybe-too-short skirt, she was freezing.   


A throat being cleared made her look up, and Felicity’s attempt at a professional smile faded when she saw it was Becki-with-an-I, the assistant to the CFO.  Not only was she tall, thin, and ridiculously pretty, but she had been rumored to have been gunning to move up to EA to the CEO, until Felicity got the job.  And Becki hadn’t taken that very well.   


“I guess it wasn’t just dictation at lunch, huh?” Becki asked, her voice syrupy sweet.  Her tone was designed to invite Felicity to share confidences--confidences that Becki would then share throughout the QC grapevine.  Felicity might not know much about the secretarial arts, but she knew all about gossip.     


To her horror, she realized that Digg, from his position just inside the door to Oliver’s office, had heard Becki.  She could tell by the way his head had suddenly turned, by how he had shifted position so that he could see Felicity’s face as well as Oliver’s now.     


_ Please don’t let him step in, or else this will get a million times worse _ , Felicity silently wished.  Then she looked at Becki and said blandly, “How can I help you, Becki?”   


With a loud sigh, Becki dropped a stack of folders on top of Felicity’s desk.  “Contracts from the CFO that require Mr. Queen’s signature.  Mr. Antonelli like them signed now.”     


“Mr. Queen’s on a conference call with the European divisions,” Felicity replied, standing up to take the folders.  “He’ll be able to sign these in an hour, and then I’ll bring them on up.”     


Becki tapped an exquisitely polished nail against the top of Felicity’s desk, then shrugged her shoulders.  “All right.  Oh, and do tell Mr. Queen to take a close look at the last contract--Mr. Antonelli is a bit concerned about some losses in one division.  He’s worried about embezzlement . . . about funds being siphoned to a slush account.  One that could only be accessed by a member of the Queen family.”  Becki’s eyes flicked from Felicity’s head down to her toes, then she turned and glided away effortlessly on her heels. 

Sighing, Felicity dropped down into her chair, not caring about her legs getting cold.  Becki’s heels had barely receded down the hall when Digg stepped out of Oliver’s office and closed the door.   


“What the hell was that?” he asked, his voice low and full of equal parts concern and anger.  “I know people were surprised at you becoming Oliver’s EA . . .”   


“They were,” Felicity said, looking up at Digg.  “And without any explanation, they’ve come up with one that makes sense to them.”  She smiled weakly, trying not to sound hurt but knowing she had failed miserably.  “You can probably guess what they’re saying.”     


Digg nodded slowly, a thundercloud going over his face.     


“It’s all so ridiculous,” Felicity said with a sigh, leaning back in her chair.  “Because . . . c’mon.  There’s no way Oliver is so weak, to be manipulated like they think he’s been.  No matter  _ how good _ the woman’s blow jobs are.”  

“Besides, anyone who knows you would know that’s not how you got this job,” Digg said, his loyalty obvious and never-failing.

The fact that he always had her back--that his support of her was unconditional--made Felicity smile.  “Thanks.  I mean, you’re right--look at me and look at Oliver.  Anyone who thinks we have something is just . . . well, they have a really good imagination.”  

Felicity kept her voice even and bland.  Because it was true: she and Oliver?  As a couple?  Or lovers?  She mentally wrinkled her nose at the word, since it always sounded weird.  But still, it was just impossible anyone could believe that she and Oliver were together.  The first time she had heard that, she had laughed.  Right in the face of Susan from HR, who had drawn her aside to say that Human Resources was ready to support her on a workplace harassment claim.  Felicity hadn’t understood, until Susan finally stopped beating around the bush: everyone said that Felicity had gotten her job on her knees.  

What else could she do  _ but  _ laugh?  Did people at QC not have eyes?  Because look at Oliver and then look at her, and it should all become clear.  They were just friends and that was all.  

Digg looked skeptical, like he was ready to argue with her, and Felicity kept talking.  “It’s just completely baseless, and if I didn’t think it would cause even more talk and trouble, I might have taken HR up on their offer to file a workplace harassment claim.  But if there’s one thing I learned growing up, it’s that snitches get stitches.”  She gave Digg a big smile, hoping that would reassure him.

It did and it didn’t, because he stayed on the same topic but moved to a different element of it.  “What was that talk about embezzlement and a slush fund only a Queen could access?”

Rolling her eyes, Felicity shook her head.  “Someone heard me say I used money from Oliver to pay for my new clothes--which I did.  There was already some gossip about how much my wardrobe had improved, and once that got out, well . . . fuel to the fire.”  

“Man, this makes me glad I had a brother.  Women are nuts,” Digg said.  But Felicity knew he was only joking--that he had a high regard for women and was about as close as a man could get to being a feminist.  So she just grinned and got back to work, while Digg went back into Oliver’s office.

Because to her surprise, being an executive assistant actually was a lot of work.  In some ways, it reminded her of programming: the need to organize data, prioritize processing time, managing resources.  But it was mostly busywork--and a job that was a lot more political than she had realized.  

But she could already tell it made a difference to the team’s work, having the three of them together as often as they were.  And . . . well, she wasn’t made out of stone.  Getting to see Oliver every day, in a perfectly-tailored suit, knowing full well what lurked underneath, thanks to all those hours watching him on the salmon ladder . . . 

That was why she knew the gossips were just seeing what they wanted to see, instead of the truth.  There wasn’t anything between her and Oliver--there never would be anything between them.  IT girl and billionaire . . . it was just  _ unthinkable _ .   


XXX

_ Oh, Felicity.  A genius who’s playing dumb.  Because . . . c’mon.  How have you not noticed the way Oliver has been looking at you?  He’s like something out of a cartoon, between the drool and the heart eyes.  He’s been looking at you like he’s hungry--and also like he wants to cuddle with you in front of a fire. _

_ If only I could just tell you to really look at Oliver.  Watch him when you’re talking to him, see how his eyes are never still, ‘cause they’re trying to take in every bit of you.  He is crazy about you and he has no idea.  Pretty much like you have no idea how crazy about you he is.     _

_ At least you seem to know you feel something for him.  Maybe you just want him.  You’re not one for the heart eyes, true.  You sure like the way he looks, but maybe that’s all it is.  I don’t think so, but you play the cards close to the vest. _

_ I’m not gonna say anything.  Because it’s not the right time for you two.  But God help us all when you two idiots figure it out, because I’m definitely gonna see things way worse than you leering at Oliver and him looking at you like a schoolboy with a crush.   _

_ No one’s gonna wanna see that.  God, I hope Oliver picks up another stray or two, so I’m not all alone watching you two undress each other with your eyes.   _

_ Eh, it’s probably gonna take you both years to figure it out.  I’ve got time before I really have to worry about this. _

End.   
  
  



End file.
